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The man’s face falls. “Yes, a mistake, in the lab,” the clinic director repeats. “Which resulted in you potentially carrying Dr. Raikes’ baby. Potentially being the key word here.” The man lets out a nervous chuckle. “The whole situation might dissolve in a soap bubble,” he says, his voice cracking with nerves. “The embryo might not have implanted, and you might not be pregnant. Then all that would be left to do would be to decide what to do with the other two. Of course, we would offer you another cycle free of charge should you decide to dispose of—”
I raise a hand to stop him mid-sentence. “Wait for a second; what do you mean the other two?”
The man’s eyes dart from my face to John’s and back. Sweat beads on his forehead as he says, “All thirteen of the eggs retrieved on”—he checks the papers on his desk again—“October fourth were… erm… fertilized with Dr. Raikes’ semen, resulting in the production of three viable blastocysts. You were implanted with one, and the other two have been cryopreserved for future procreation needs. All three embryos were genetically tested and are healthy ones.” He gives me a small smile. “You requested not to know the gender, so that’s not part of the report, but we can, of course, always glean the result from the genetic mapping exam.”
The room remains eerily quiet as I stare at the man, hearing what he’s saying, but refusing to believe him.
I tap my foot on the floor.
Seeing as I don’t speak, the director continues, “You may donate the embryos to scientific research, or use them should the two of you come to an agreement.”
My head snaps to John. He’s staring at me with an intensity that scares me more than everything the other doctor just said. A storm of emotions is brewing in his blue eyes, turning them a few shades darker than his regular color.
I look away, concentrating all my fury on the director. “Let me just recap, here, doctor.” I clench and unclench my hands as rage rolls off of me in waves. “See if I got everything right.”
He nods. “Sure.”
“You’re telling me you’ve taken my genes, mixed them with his rotten ones, and made not one, but three children of Satan?” My voice raises an octave at the end.
The director passes a finger inside the collar of the button-down shirt he’s wearing under the medical white coat. “Ch-ch-children of whom, miss?” His hands are shaking so badly now that he puts down the papers and grips the edge of the desk with both hands to steady himself.
“Satan.” I point a finger at John. “And of these three baby hellions you made, two are in the freezer and one might be growing inside me as we speak.”
“I w-wouldn’t refer to Dr. Raikes as S-S-Satan. He’s a respected member of the medical community… he… he…” The director shuffles the papers on his desk. “What did you say your previous acquaintance was, Dr. Raikes?” His trembling hands travel over the papers scattered on his desk until he finds the right form, the one that apparently unleashed this entire hell on us, and reads. “It says here you were classmates in high school.”
I scoff as my nostrils flare. “Classmates, huh?” The hysterical laugh that has been brewing inside me since hearing all this nonsense finally bubbles out. I chuckle and chortle until my sides hurt and I’m wiping tears from my eyes. Both men stare at me while I try to control the hysteria. “Are there cameras hidden somewhere? Is this a prank?”
“Dr. Quinn.” John speaks up for the first time. “Maybe it’s better if you leave us a moment alone.”
“No!” I stand up abruptly, sending my chair capsizing on the floor. “Absolutely not.” As I speak next, my lips pull back, baring my teeth. “I don’t want to spend another minute in the presence of this man, let alone have his baby.” I gather my things. “You’ll hear from my lawyer. I’ll sue this clinic into the ground.”
The director drops his head into his hands. “I knew I should’ve called in someone from legal to have this conversation.”
“You bet,” I say. Storming out of the office, I add, “A horrible rest of your day to you both.”
The last thing I hear is John telling his boss, “Give me a few days. I’ll try to sort this out.”
Footsteps rush after me. I accelerate. The elevator is waiting at the end of the corridor, its doors open. An escape route. I need to get in before he catches up with me.
“Marissa,” John calls after me.
I break into a run, sprinting down the hall as if my life depended on it. He must start running as well because with every stride I take forward, John’s pounding footsteps sound closer. The open doors are just ahead of me, the metal walls and fluorescent lights a promise of salvation. I gather my forces and speed up, crashing inside the waiting elevator. In a split second, I spin on my heels and maniacally push the lobby button.
The doors begin to close, and I dare look up. Still a few yards down the hall, John sets his jaw and increases his pace, his arms pumping at his sides.
He won’t make it. The doors are almost closed already. Just when I think I’ve made it, there’s a dull thud against the metal doors, and John’s foot slams into the opening.
The doors inevitably reopen for him, and my ex enters the elevator with me.
22
MARISSA
“Let me out.”
My demand falls on deaf ears. John stares at me with the same intensity he had in the office and doesn’t move a muscle. His chest is still bobbing with the effort of the run.
With neither of us moving, the doors close behind him and we begin our downward ride to the lobby.
